


The Constant

by visitinghour



Category: Dexter (TV)
Genre: F/M, I'm so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 12:51:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/visitinghour/pseuds/visitinghour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Meet me at the place where not enough became too much. – D."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Constant

**Author's Note:**

> first posts are always the best, aw. raise your hand if you're proud of me.
> 
> so this takes place three months after the finale of season 7. so, um, spoilers, i guess.
> 
> and sex, sort of. is vague sex a warning? is there a word for that? 
> 
> also, i'm pretty sure this doesn't make sense. like, at all. so i apologize for that.
> 
> anyways, enjoy!

Days go by, and she doesn’t talk to him. But then days are weeks and weeks are months and he _can’t handle it anymore,_ so he writes her a note and leaves it on her desk.

_Meet me at the place where not enough became too much. – D_

She knows what it means. She always does. And she’ll come, because even though she ‘hates him’, now, and even though he isn’t what she thought he was at all, and even though he _broke her_ more than she was already broken, she still loves him.

He knows she’ll never stop, as much as she’d like to. He knows that loving him is killing her inside, the thought of _loving a killer_ makes her sick and she doesn’t sleep at night. (Brian Moser goes unsaid.) But he knows that she knows just as well as he knows that it’s never going to stop.

So he waits on the hill where Travis Marshall’s church used to be. The church that burned down their relationship, the flames that took them, (took _her,_ )and made them (made _her_ ) into ashes.

A mere memory of what was, and a side-thought of what could have been, but never would have been.

They’re thinking of building a new apartment complex here.

He’s thinking of building a new _us_ here.

Neither will make it.

He knows.

He sees her car in the distance. If he weren’t so afraid, he may have smirked.

She drives slower than she normally would. He can picture her there, cursing under her breath and rehearsing what to say – everything she’s been thinking at him for the past three months. Maybe the things she’s told her therapist. How he’s turned her into a monster. How she can’t stand to look in the mirror anymore. How she can’t eat, how she can’t sleep, how she can’t do her job properly anymore. How this is all getting to be too much for her and how she doesn’t know how he can live with himself.

He _disgusts_ her.

How could she have ever been in love with _him?_

She gets out of the car and the Miami breeze is sweeping her hair into the air. She sees him, but she doesn’t look at him. She takes her time climbing up the hill, too. He can’t see her mouth moving, but he can hear her thoughts. Not much has changed.

He stands up and calls out her name, but she doesn’t respond. He crosses his arms over his chest and looks up at the sky as he waits. The stars are shouting at him, “fix this, _fix this,_ ” and he’s yelling back, “ _how?_ ”

She punches him. Square in the jaw, she punches him. It isn’t like the first time she punched him. It hurts a lot more, and it’s kind of expected. He rubs his jaw and sighs her name, looking down.

She is screaming. She is screaming words that don’t matter at him, words he already knows, things he’s already heard. He is looking down and mumbling apologies she knows he doesn’t mean, and whispering her name like he’s expecting her to fall into him – but they both know that she won’t.

She tells him he’s a monster. She tells him he ruined her life, she tells him she’ll never be okay again. She tells him he’s going to tell the police, she tells him she has evidence.

He tells her he won’t.

She says she could and he had better not push his luck.

He reminds her that she’s his sister.

She reminds him that he’s adopted.

He keeps looking down, and she is screaming again. _I wish Dad had never brought you home. I wish they had fucking killed you and Brian along with your fucking mother. You’re not a Morgan. You never were. You’re a Moser, and you’re just like him. All those nights spent awake, wondering how someone like you could be related to someone like him. I can see it so clearly now. You’re both fucking sick. You should have let him fucking kill me – should have saved him instead of me. Do you know how much better my life would have been if it weren’t for you? If Dad weren’t so fucking busy looking after you and your fucking – Jesus, fuck. What the fuck do you call it? Whatever. If he weren’t so busy making sure you weren’t killing the entire neighborhood, maybe he would have fucking liked me. You fucking ruined everything. I hate you so fucking much. I’ve never fucking hated anything more than I hate you in my entire fucking pathetic little life. I should have fucking killed you. I was holding the gun and I should have fucking killed you, not her. God, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you --_

But his mouth is on hers and he is kissing her and she is kissing back and they both know that this is wrong – really, really _wrong,_ but neither of them are going to start their list of wrong things there.

And she is pushing him down into the dirt, into the ashes of _them,_ and she is taking off his shirt and there is no more screaming because neither of them wants to scream about this.  

He can’t get his mouth of hers because he needs her to taste how sorry he is. She needs to taste the bad taste that she left in his mouth, she needs to feel how he has never hated himself more than after what happened that night. _She needs to taste how he needs her._

And he tastes how she doesn’t need him, how he is everything she hates. She tastes like _too much,_ she tastes like bitterness and she tastes like disgust. But somehow, past all of that, she still tastes like _desire._

She screams and claws at his back when he fucks her. She buries her face in his shoulder and whimpers, she _begs_ – little pleas of _please_ and mantras of his name and _oh god_ s. She spits them out with hatred. Her lips curl around his name in a filthy manner that makes him need this more.

Fucking her isn’t like fucking Rita, or Lila, or Hannah. Fucking her is like killing. He needs it, _wants_ it. And it’s terrible, of course, but nothing has ever felt this good, and he knows that nothing _will,_ ever again.

He can feel his back start to bleed, and he knows she isn’t tearing at his skin like that out of ecstasy. He knows she’s doing it because she wants to tear his skin apart and pull the _killer_ out of him, she wants to break him down until all that’s left is the him she thought she knew. He kisses her again, brushing his fingertips against her stomach. He wants to reassure her that it’s okay, wants to tell her that everything is going to be fine, but he knows it isn’t. He knows that from her on in, things are only going to get worse.

But he wants her to be okay. He _needs_ her to be okay. He isn’t going to make it if she isn’t.

He i

He collapses against her with a groan, resting his head on her chest. He listens as she tries to catch her breath, as she tries to figure out why she just had sex with a man she _hates._ His mouth hangs open a little and he rolls off of her, tugging his pants up and staring up at the sky.

The stars are shining down on him like they know something that he doesn’t. He turns his head and looks over to her. She is staring at the sky.

He breathes.

He tells her that this isn’t what he was expecting to happen. He tells her that he’s sorry, that he loves her. He says he hadn’t realized until that night at her house, after she had found out about Hannah. He mumbles that he’s sorry for ruining her life and that he wishes that they had killed him and Brian along with his mother, too. He shuts his eyes and says that the only reason he’s still here is because he needs her. _I always thought it was the other way around. You, needing me. But it wasn’t. You never needed me. I was the one who always needed you._   _I still do._ He struggles to find the right words and he tells her that he loves her, again.

She stands up. She is saying how she can’t believe him. How he doesn’t even know what love is. How he’s a sadistic son of a bitch and she hates him and she’ll never forgive him. She is walking off, yelling not to bother her at work and he is feeling even more confused than before.

He opens his eyes and stares up at the sky.

The stars are laughing at him, calling him foolish for ever thinking that he could fix this. For thinking that she could ever be okay again. And the moon, the moon is rolling its eyes at him for even dragging her into this in the first place and in a couple of hours, the sun will rise and roll its eyes at him, too.


End file.
